


the feeling deep down is good

by keepthemclose



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Begging, Biting, Body Worship, Clothed Sex, Creampie, Doggy Style, Exhibitionism, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Formalwear, In Public, Kinktober, Kitchen Sex, Lingerie, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Quickies, Quiet Sex, Sex Tapes, Size Kink, Strength Kink, Strip Tease, Vaginal Fingering, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 19,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26803219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepthemclose/pseuds/keepthemclose
Summary: Collection of oneshots and drabbles for Gendrya Kinktober 2020
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 349
Kudos: 372
Collections: Gendrya Kinktober 2020





	1. outdoor sex, biting

**Author's Note:**

> Day 2: outdoor sex, biting
> 
> Brotherhood Without Banners AU

“Oi, Gendry!” Anguy shouts down the table. “What happened to your neck? Fall on a pair of lips, did you?”

The whole Brotherhood laughs, already drunk and boisterous, a few flagons deep into their celebration of a successful Lannister raid.

Gendry’s hand flies up to his neck and his face flushes. He shoots a quick glance at Arya, but then averts his gaze. Best not to give anything away. Even though this whole thing is her fault.

Arya doesn’t even look up from her ale. In fact, she looks rather bored with the whole conversation. Her calmness is both impressive and infuriating. Not an hour ago, she had been keening so loudly in the forge that Gendry had to cover her screams with his hand.

He flexes his hand as though he can still feel her warm breath against his palm.

“Who is she?” Anguy hollers. “Maybe you wouldn’t mind me having a go?”

“Piss off,” Gendry spits, hands curling into fists. Anguy is always bawdy but Gendry can’t stand the idea of anyone touching Arya the way he does. Just the thought of it makes him see red.

Only he knows how her hair comes loose from her braid when she mounts him on a sack of grain, the changing cadence of her moans as he works her towards her peak, the softness in her eyes after he finishes and draws her into his embrace.

“You’re all acting stupid,” Arya declares. “Good night.”

* * *

The next day, Arya drags Gendry along with her to lay traps in the woods.

“Your neck looks better,” she says, a small smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. She bends down to set up a trap right at the entrance of a nearby clearing.

Gendry touches the spot where Arya marked him. When he finally saw her handiwork in the mirror last night, an undeniable purple bruise in the shape of her lips, it had lit something inside his chest. _She’s mine. I’m hers._

“I think you owe me an apology,” he says, trailing after her.

“Whatever for?” Arya arches a perfect eyebrow over her shoulder as she stands up, goading him.

Gendry takes a few strides to close the distance between them, pulling her back into him as his mouth breathes a trail up her neck, “For leaving your mark on me. For almost giving us away.”

“It was an accident,” Arya explains. She tries to keep her voice even, but Gendry can feel her trembling slightly in his arms, anticipating his next move.

“I have half a mind to give you a souvenir in return,” he murmurs, placing light kisses down the smooth pale column of her throat, pausing every now and then to nip at her skin.

“Don’t you dare,” Arya gasps, twisting and laughing in his hold. Gendry loves that sound. Their days are usually overshadowed by the war and the loss it’s brought. Some days leave them so worn and weary all they can do is collapse onto whatever makeshift bed they can. So when Arya laughs, it’s an event.

“Fair’s fair. How else do you plan to make it up to me?” 

Arya turns around and presses a sweet kiss to his lips.

“You can mark me,” she whispers. “But only where _you_ can see them.”

The thought of Arya with love bites peppering her breasts or scattered across the delicate skin of her inner thighs has Gendry tearing off his cloak in seconds. Those bites will be a promise.

He lays his cloak on the ground, then her on top of it. She pulls off her clothes and is laid out before him, naked and beautiful as the Maiden herself. Arya bites her lip as he undresses and kneels in front of her. His rough hand palms her breast, cups her between her legs. She draws blood once he starts mapping her with his mouth.


	2. quickie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: quickie
> 
> Post-battle, before Gendry is legitimized

In the days following the defeat of the Night King and his Army of the Dead, the acrid smell of burning flesh was inescapable. Funeral pyres were constructed and lit at all hours. People searched the wreckage for their loved ones, tallying the loss despite a hard-won victory.

Arya could not escape the whispers, the subtle nods of appreciation, the bows and thanks. After so many years pretending to be anyone except Arya Stark, of learning to slip inside other identities and to pass through the world unacknowledged and therefore unscathed, it was an uncomfortable change to bear her true name.

Arya Stark, Savior of Westeros. Arya Stark, Slayer of the Night King.

The only time she didn’t mind the way her name sounded was when Gendry moaned it in her ear. _Seven Hells, Arya._ He cursed her name. He said it with reverence. Not in the same way others did as though she was a hallowed figure, but with the fascination that the girl he met half a lifetime ago, the woman he _loved_ , was still warm, alive, and here with him.

The two met for feverish trysts around the castle, in dark corners of the crypt, and secluded battlements while the wind blew the smell of smoke. Gendry took her against the door of a broom closet, fucked her standing in the middle of the armory. It was always fast and hard with clothes half torn off, muffled screams and bruised lips by the dying light of torches or in the shadows of the night. Every rush of air through their lungs and each snap of their hips was a reminder that they had _lived_.

On the night of yet another feast, Gendry stayed in the forge as usual, knowing that Arya would slip in unnoticed once the festivities were under way. When she turned up wordlessly with a basket of food and mead she swiped from the kitchens, he was barely able to utter a “thank you” before she hopped up on his anvil and beckoned him between her legs.

And who was he to deny her?

“Someday, I want to do this proper,” he huffed in her ear, slowing his violent thrusts inside her.

His pants were pooled at his ankles. Her blouse was torn open to expose one pale breast. They had a tendency to only expose the necessary parts, always too impatient to touch one another.

“Seems like you know how to do things properly to me,” Arya quipped, rolling her hips beneath him.

“That’s-that’s not what I meant,” Gendry cupped her cheek and pressed her forehead to his. “I mean…I want to take my time with you.”

“Oh.” 

_Oh._

“I want to savor it. I want to see all of you,” he confessed, grinding his hips into hers. His hands slid down to cover the angry red scars on her abdomen. “Make you come with my fingers and mouth over and over until you can’t stand it. Then, and only then, would I enter you.”

Arya struggled to keep her eyes open as Gendry dropped a hand to the juncture of her thighs, tormenting her with every brush of his thumb.

“Would you like that, Arya?”

She gasped, “Yes. Gods, yes. But can you just make me come now and savor later?”

Gendry obliged, because he loved it when she begged, swallowing her moans as she froze and shattered in his arms.

While Arya came back to herself, he carried her to the pallet in the back of the forge. He pulled off her shirt and began kissing his way down her chest, then even further down.

“Gendry, what are you doing?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbows.

He gave her a wicked grin, “Savoring.”


	3. creampie/cum play, fingering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combining two prompts from days 4 and 5: creampie/cum play, fingering
> 
> Modern AU. This is truly filthy, even by my standards! 🙈

Coming inside Arya is his favorite thing in the world. Being able to see it is a close second.

Even after so many years together, they’re not used to being apart for more than a few days.

One night after another one of Arya’s particularly long work trips, they stumble into bed without much foreplay, too touch-starved to care about gentleness. Gendry takes her hard and fast, spurred by Arya’s cries and her nails raking down his back. He comes before she can, his head buried in her neck as he shudders, pumping his release inside her.

Gendry pulls out of her slowly, watching as a thick dribble of his come trickles out of her. His jaw tightens at the sight. Her cunt — that beautiful, tight cunt — fluttering around emptiness.

He can’t quite explain why he does this next, but on instinct, he gathers up his come and pushes it back inside her. Back where it belongs.

Arya lets out a broken whine. Gendry smiles, knowing she enjoys it as much as he does, that she loves the moments when he’s able to be a little selfish, especially when it comes to her. She lets her legs fall open even further, patiently waiting for him to finish what he started. They both watch as Gendry slides one, then two fingers inside her, fucking his come into her as he hones in on the one spot he knows will have her thrashing in no time.

Arya complains sometimes that she’s so easy because he knows her body so well, but Gendry loves it. And loves to make her eat her words.

When her thighs start to shake, Gendry doubles his efforts, forehead knit in concentration while her eyes glaze over watching his movements. Arya spills all over his hand, soundless from the intensity and suddenness. He doesn’t let up even when she fumbles to grasp his wrist, knowing that he can wring one more orgasm out of her.

He feels her pulse around his fingers a second time, accompanied by a quiet “fuck.”

Gendry gives a teasing lick to her damp inner thigh, “Welcome home.”

“Show off,” she mumbles.


	4. woman on top

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: woman on top
> 
> AU where Gendry grows up in Winterfell along with the Starks

Arya started riding horses at the age of six.

She took to riding much more easily than embroidery, relishing in the lungfuls of winter air as she trotted around the yard. As she grew older and more restless, her father let her go beyond the walls of Winterfell so long as one of her brothers accompanied her. More often than not, that brother was Jon. And where Jon and Arya went, Gendry followed.

There was nothing more freeing than the wind blowing past her as she tore through the woods, challenging Jon and Gendry to races that she always inevitably won. Jon teased her that she was part horse. The trick, she told them, was to feel like you were one with the horse, to feel every shift and movement and for it to feel your moods in return.

Going out riding made it easier to ignore the japes of Sansa and her friends. _Arya Horseface._

Jon would try to comfort her by advising her to hold her head high, to not let the words cut her so deeply. Gendry didn’t interrupt her rants. He listened, nodded along, let her kick things and break twigs and tree branches in frustration. Although he never said an ill word about Sansa, he started to make sure to step on her toes during dances at feasts. He would apologize for his clumsiness and take a seat next to Arya who would hand him a lemon cake as a silent thank you.

* * *

When Arya turned three and ten, it became more and more difficult to get out of Septa Mordane’s teachings. Her mother was never angry with her, but was perpetually exasperated by her inability to focus on her lessons. Sneaking away to go riding or practice her water dancing didn’t seem to bother her mother as much as the fact that she still spent most of her free time with Jon and Gendry.

One day after practicing jumps on her horse in the training yard, she wandered over to the area where Theon and Jon watched as Gendry and Robb sparred.

“You’re going to make a man very happy someday with all your riding,” Theon snickered.

Gendry and Robb were too far away to hear Theon’s words, but Jon immediately stood up and glowered at him.

“That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

“She’ll find out soon enough,” Theon sneered.

Arya tugged Jon’s sleeve, confused about why he was so angry. Even though she wanted to punch that smug Ironborn in the face most days too, she didn’t want Jon getting himself in trouble.

Theon, satisfied with riling them both up, sauntered away. When Arya asked Jon what Theon had meant, he shrugged her off, “Just forget it. Please. Now go inside and clean up for dinner.”

She didn’t forget. Instead, she found Gendry in the forge, bearing a basket of winter berries. Within a few minutes of sitting near the flames, she threw off her heavy cloak. No wonder he had discarded his shirt.

She tried not to focus too much on the soot stains on his skin or the way his arm flexed as he brought his hammer down on the breastplate he was working on.

“What does that mean?” Arya asked, pacing back and forth. “Riding a man.”

Gendry faltered in his movements.

“Where’d you hear that from?”

“Theon.”

Gendry grumbled something profane under his breath and set the breastplate to the side, wiping his hands on a rag.

“How would that even work?” Arya mused, popping a berry in her mouth. “Can you show me?”

Gendry sputtered, “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not proper, m’lady.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Well you are,” Gendry said, stubborn as ever. These days he was always in a sour mood.

“I deserve to know things,” Arya insisted. She could hear how petulant she sounded but the frustration was overwhelming. Everyone kept insisting she was a lady now, but only when it was convenient and meant doing things she hated.

“Not everything.”

Annoyed, Arya gave him a proper shove. He didn’t fall over as easily these days. At eight and ten, Gendry was a man grown now with the height and build to prove it. He held onto her and they both toppled over. He may have been stronger, but she was always quicker. They exchanged a few jabs and rolled around on the floor and before she knew it, she was sitting astride him, both their chests heaving from the exertion.

Is this what Theon meant? From Gendry’s pinched expression and the way his stomach muscles twitched underneath her palms, he seemed to be in pain.

She had metal shavings on her clothes and she bet her cheeks were red and her hair a mess.

“I surrender,” he sighed.

She stood up first, offering her hand to help him up. He didn’t take it, just brushed himself off and returned to his work.

“Are you going to tell me?” Arya asked again.

“No.”

_Stupid._

* * *

When Arya turned seven and ten, Gendry finally taught her what the big fuss was about with Theon’s crude words.

Of course, she’d discovered some literature in the restricted section of the castle’s library over the years and had overheard enough of Sansa’s conversations to understand that there were many ways of lying with a man. But it wasn’t until Gendry had pulled her on top of him and pressed his lips to hers that she understood why blood ran hot over this particular position.

Tired of being treated like an object to be traded and bartered, Arya decided to enlist Gendry’s help in putting the barrage of marriage proposals to rest once and for all. She asked him to go with her on a horseback ride along her favorite trail, like they used to when they were younger. Just to take her mind off of everything.

When they came to her favorite clearing, they took a break and tied their horses to a nearby tree. Gendry built a small fire and offered her his cloak when he saw her shivering. As he stoked the flames, she laid out her proposal.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Gendry scoffed.

“I’m asking you to take my maidenhead, you oaf. I’m not little Arya Horseface anymore.”

“I know you aren’t,” he ran a hand over his face. “Believe me.”

“Then what’s the problem? I know…the mechanics of things. Bedding. Fucking.”

“Seven Hells, Arya, I don’t want to just fuck you. I want to marry you!”

His voice rang out in the forest, his admission loud and reverberating through the woods.

“Marry me?” she repeated, the words foreign in her mouth.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” Gendry said quietly, eyes cast down to his lap. “You were just too stupid to notice.”

Arya snorted, glad to see that he could still joke with her. She placed her cold hand over his warm one, “I think I’ve loved you for a long time too.”

His blue eyes finally met hers, searching for the truth in them.

“I wouldn’t have asked anyone to do this. Just you. You’re my best friend and there’s no one I trust more.”

She leaned in, breath expelling a wisp of cold air against his lips before they kissed. The kiss was solid, warm, sure. Everything that reminded her of Gendry.

Their lips moved against one another with more desperation. Arya’s hands slid underneath the many layers Gendry had on, eager to feel him. They disrobed enough to be skin to skin without freezing. Gendry dropped a smattering of kisses on her neck and chest as he maneuvered her onto his lap.

A swipe between her legs to feel how ready she was for him. A soft moan from her lips as she eased down his cock for the first time. A slow, contented smile on her face as he slipped deep inside her. A firm grasp on her hips as she began to rise up and down in his lap.

“Does that feel good?” Arya asked. “Do you like me riding you?”

Gendry nodded. Swore. Then, a suggestion.

“Try moving back and forth. Tilt your hips like this — ah, there we go.”

Arya heeded his instructions and the new movement touched a new spot that made her starve for more. They moved as one, responding to each other’s every response, twitch, and praise. She could feel the slickness between her thighs grow and she chased the feeling, hips moving faster and faster until she peaked.

He brought her down so that their chests were touching, his lips buried in her hair and his hands holding hers behind her back as he rutted up into her. Being held and handled like that made her clench around him a second time. After a few more frantic thrusts, Gendry spilled his release on the ground.

They didn’t linger long, the sweat rapidly cooling and making them shiver. Gendry kissed her deeply before they put out the fire.

Arya shifted a bit uncomfortably in her saddle on their way home, no doubt sore from their lovemaking. It sent a wave of possessiveness through Gendry that he’d never known.

He couldn't help but ask, “Did you enjoy your riding lesson?”

“Yes. Although I think I’ll need many more.”


	5. begging, leaving marks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combining two prompts from days 8 and 9: begging, leaving marks

It isn’t often that Arya finds herself at Gendry’s mercy, but when she does, he takes his time pulling her apart and putting her back together. Of course, he loves it when she takes control and has no trouble voicing exactly what it is he wants from her or following her instructions for how to pleasure her. But he relishes the rare moments where Arya lets her guard down, when her need for him is so obvious her body vibrates with anticipation, when she trusts him so much with her pleasure that she _begs_.

He’s already almost made her come twice — once with his mouth and once with his fingers — when she starts to whine, hips arching into his touch as he pulls away and surveys his handiwork. Arya’s chest is flushed and tinged pink from where his beard teased her breasts, her inner thighs shining with her arousal. She regards him with a mixture of frustration and hunger, mouth parted to let those small moans escape. She looks beautiful like this.

“Gods, Gendry. Please.”

When he has the opportunity to work her up like this, Gendry likes to do one of two things. Bring her close to the edge over and over until she begs him to let her come, or keep her coming again and again until she begs him to stop.

Today, he’s opted for the former. At least to start.

Gendry pins Arya’s knees to the mattress, spreading her out so he can see the delicate folds of her cunt, her swollen clit which aches for his touch.

“Can you just enjoy this moment?” he asks, finally taking his cock out. Arya practically purrs at the sight. He slides it up and down in her slickness until he’s covered in it. But he doesn’t enter her yet.

“Please,” Arya chokes. “Please let me come. I’ll be so good for you.”

She cries out as he slaps his cock against her soaked cunt, each strike against her nub sending a jolt of pleasure through her but not enough.

“You deserve to feel good too,” she says, changing her tactics. “Can’t you feel how wet you’ve made me?”

At that, Gendry’s own self-control crumbles a bit. A light sheen of sweat covers them both and Arya looks like she’s about five seconds away from employing her safe word.

She panics as he moves away, worried that he’ll leave her like this. Gendry shushes her gently, maneuvering so that he’s pressed behind her, her left leg thrown over his.

Normally it takes a few thrusts to fully work his cock inside of her, but Arya is so ready that he sinks into her fully on the first try, her head lolling back into his shoulder as the length of him just _keeps going_. Gendry has worked her up so much, kept her teetering on the knife’s edge of pleasure for so long, that she comes the second he hilts himself completely inside. He stills as her cunt flutters around him and she screams his name, loving it when he can feel, see, and hear the pleasure he’s brought her.

When she comes down, Gendry is through with teasing. He grips her hips hard enough to bruise, holding her still as he takes her at a blistering pace, licking and laving at her neck greedily. She’ll have to wear a scarf to family dinner tomorrow but it’s a small price to pay. In this state, she would let Gendry mark her head to toe.

“You’re perfect, please sweetheart. Come for me again, Arya. Can you do that for me?”

Now, it’s his turn to beg.


	6. from behind, clothes on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11: from behind, clothes on
> 
> Sorry, I made this so angsty.

When Arya reappears in his life, she is familiar and strange all at once.

The rare smiles he coaxes out of her are shadows of the same ones she made when they were both children lost on the road, unsure what to name the closeness that they developed without even noticing. She is cool and precise, like her movements in the training yard, an iron veneer that could only have been forged in great hardship. Hardship that she doesn’t acknowledge, even though it is written all across her body in tiny silvery scars and angry raised gashes.

He doesn’t know where she’s been in the intervening years, if the rumors about her are true. He’s now run his fingers over that puckered flesh as he traces her curves more times than he can count, each time an invitation to share what happened to her. But Arya doesn’t answer his silent questions. She prefers that he shut up and take off his clothes, though usually she’s too impatient to wait for him to do so.

Arya finds him in the forge after dinner one night, not caring that he was holding a crucible of molten steel, and kisses him hungrily. Gendry has slowly built up an understanding of Arya’s moods, and today, she seems hurt, frustrated, and in need of comfort.

“I don’t want to talk,” she says, as if reading his mind. She yanks at the laces on his trousers and pushes them down just enough to pull out his cock. Already hard because of course he is. Of course he is with her.

Arya turns around, bends over, and shimmies out of her own breeches just enough to expose the perfect pale skin of her ass.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t put your mouth to better use.”

Gendry sinks to his knees like a man at an altar. He holds her hips still for his tongue, groaning into her cunt as she whimpers above him. He chases every trickle of wetness, content to bury himself between her thighs and feast on her like this forever. When she’s wet enough, glistening in the firelight of the forge, he splits her on his cock. She is braced against an anvil, pushing her hips against his once he’s as deep as he can go, begging him to move.

Gendry snakes his right hand under her, wrapping it around her left shoulder to pull her back forcefully with each slow, deep thrust. He pants into her hair, nuzzling her ear and cataloguing each gasp.

They don’t kiss anymore. Not on the mouth at least. Now, it’s like this. Perfunctory. Impersonal. Never long enough.

Gendry usually takes Arya from behind. She hasn’t ridden him since their first time before the Long Night, doesn’t even like to face him when he’s on top of her unless she can bury her face in his shoulders and avoid his gaze.

It’s too intimate. She doesn’t like to look into his eyes, as if she’s afraid of what she’ll see there. Whether it’s what she’ll see in his eyes or what she’ll see reflected back at her, he isn’t sure.

Of course, he’ll have her anyway, anywhere she wants. It always feels good with her. And when she presents herself bent at the waist or facedown on his pallet, Gendry moves on instinct.

He drives into Arya with increasing intensity but refuses to increase his pace, no matter how much she writhes and squirms. He has her pinned and lifted up against the anvil now so that she’s on her tiptoes, unable to change the angle or depth of his movements, completely at his mercy. When her hands creep down to touch her nub, he grabs both her wrists in his other hand, holding them there while he continues. Steady. Unhurried.

If this is all he can ever have of her, then he is going to make it count.

Gendry watches half of Arya’s face, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed in concentration, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as he forces lovely sounds — his name, in particular — out of her. She's so blissed out that he chances a kiss to her ear, boldly moving down the column of her neck and to her cheek. The corner of her mouth.

He whispers to her like a lover would, showering her with words of adoration. _Is that good, sweetling? Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Want to keep you like this forever._

“Gendry — ahh, please!” Arya finally opens her eyes to look back at him.

The look on her face is pure want. Desperation. She’s beautiful. He urges her to come with him, working her over with his cock and fingers without further hesitation. Against his better judgment, he spills inside of her. Even though they’re careful and Arya drinks moon tea, it’s not something he’s comfortable doing often.

But this time, he doesn’t pull out straight away. Instead, his forehead drops between her shoulder blades and he memorizes each sooty fingerprint his hands have created on her hips. For a moment, Gendry can convince himself that the look in her eye had matched his. That she wanted him as he wanted her. That they hadn’t been fucking, but making love.

He knows that the minute they’re finished, she’ll redress and disappear.

She always treats sex as straightforward. But with her, how could it ever be?


	7. size kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12: size kink

Arya has always assumed the tales of Gendry’s dick have been greatly exaggerated. She thought Theon’s remark that he was “nicknamed ‘The Bull’ for a reason” was just more of his lewd locker room talk. One summer when Sansa accidentally walked in on Gendry changing into swim trunks, she hurried back to Arya’s pool chair and gave her a thumbs up and an exaggerated wink. She rolled her eyes at Sansa, regretting telling her sister about her crush and feeling the tiniest bit jealous that Sansa had seen Gendry naked.

Arya was, of course, already in love with him by that point, but wasn’t ready to admit it to anyone, let alone Gendry.

It isn’t until years later, filled with frustration and misunderstandings, that they finally admit their feelings for one another.

“Why did we wait so long?” Gendry asks, breathless from kissing her.

“Because you’re a huge idiot,” Arya quips.

“The keyword being ‘huge.’”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“I’d rather you be full of…myself…”

Arya cuts him off with a kiss, “It’s better when you don’t talk.”

Gendry proves her right, stroking her until she comes. Then he seems determined to keep her coming. Finally, she pushes his arm away in order to get a reprieve.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Arya pants.

“I’m trying to get you ready for me.”

She thought his fingers were large until she finally sees his cock. It’s long and thick, warm and heavy in her palm. And then those rumors and gossip don’t seem like exaggerations at all. They make perfect sense.

Even though he’s made her more wet than she’s ever been in her life, for a moment, she’s nervous.

“There’s no rush,” he whispers, propping himself up on his elbow to look at her.

Arya shakes her head, determined, “No, I want to. Really want to.”

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he warns as he enters her for the first time.

“Ah,” she gasps, hands curling into fists against his shoulder.

“Easy now,” Gendry pauses. He’s not even halfway inside of her but Gods, that _stretch_.

Arya loops her legs around his hips and he continues pressing into her. Unyielding. Part of her braces herself for a sting, but he’s prepared her well. There is no discomfort, just a new pressure and depth that only Gendry can reach.

When he’s finally nestled all the way inside of her, she releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She’s so full and it should be too much. But now, she’s gotten a taste for it.

“You good?” Gendry nips at the sensitive skin behind her ear.

Words are beyond her current capability. All she can do is nod.

Gendry slowly withdraws and then slams back in her in one, smooth thrust, the glide easier. Arya swears, a guttural moan falling from her lips, feeling so full of him that she can hardly breathe. Her entire world narrows to the feeling of him.

Gendry hasn’t taken his eyes off of her cunt. She doesn’t have the best angle, but when she tries to sit up and watch, Gendry slows down again, letting her see her slick on his cock each time he slides out.

“You’re taking me so well,” he murmurs.

Arya burns under his praise as he somehow delves deeper and deeper. She molds around him like she was meant for him.

It only takes a few more well-timed thrusts to have her coming again. This time, she clenches around his length and it sends Gendry over the edge. She’s a bit dazed as he just keeps coming and _coming_ , suddenly conscious of the mess he’s made between her thighs.

After his cock softens and he pulls out of her, she whimpers at the loss, suddenly feeling empty without him. Arya admires his ass as he goes to get them water, burying her face into his pillow.

_A huge idiot, indeed._


	8. strength/muscle kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14: strength/muscle kink
> 
> Modern AU with ballerina!Arya and bartender!Gendry

The time Gendry arrives for his shift at the bar is also the same time an evening class lets out at the ballet studio across the street. It doesn’t take him long to learn that the instructor is a petite brunette with stunning grey eyes who favors an all-black wardrobe. The ballerina with the leather jacket. 

Although she’s one of the shortest people in the room, she commands it with her presence and performance. In front of an audience, she is perfection. Gendry doesn’t know much about ballet, but he admires the woman’s dedication. After everyone else leaves, she almost always stays for another few hours, practicing alone in the studio.

He never used to care about taking his breaks prior to this discovery, but soon he finds himself counting down the minutes until his next break, ignoring a bellowing Beric in his ear. He leans against the brick wall with a decorative cigarette and watches her. That’s when he sees her attempt jumps with shaky landings, mess up new combinations and choreography, and repeat the same sequence of steps over and over until she deems it correct. He likes being able to see her practice and stumble, to know that she is no stranger to hard work.

She used to lower the blinds so all he could see was the shadow of her figure. The first time they interact, she comes out to where he’s standing and asks to bum a cigarette off of him. He is so stupefied at her presence, her loud assured voice, and the black strap of her sports bra as her crop top slouches off of one shoulder, that he forgets to ask her name or offer his. But she starts leaving the blinds up after that.

They continue like this for a few months. A few seconds here, a minute there. A small wave through the glass. A compliment of his in exchange for her name. _Arya. Beautiful, like her._ Another cigarette and an invitation for her to stop by the bar for a drink sometime.

“Well, I’ll still be working,” he stumbles. “So I wouldn’t be able to erm, drink with you. But drinks are on me.”

An amused expression creeps across her face and to make himself shut up, he takes a rare drag of his cigarette. Anything to keep the embarrassing string of words from tumbling out of his mouth. What was he thinking? He couldn’t drink on the job. He needed this job. Then why did he offer to buy her drinks? What if it made him seem like he was trying to ply her with alcohol?

After an eternity, Arya finally speaks

“Holding you to that.”

* * *

Gendry does a double take when he sees Arya stride into the bar one unremarkable Tuesday evening. Happy hour schmucks have long left, trivia night nerds are slowly trickling out, and only a handful of regulars still remain. Arya’s wearing her leather jacket over a _pink_ crop top, in addition to her usual black tights and skirt.

“Laundry day,” she sighs, a means of explanation when she catches him staring. She takes a seat at the bar. Her posture is perfect.

“You’re here,” Gendry smiles, pouring her a glass of water. He garnishes it with a lemon slice.

“Well, I _was_ promised free drinks.”

“What do you want?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

That smirk of hers is back. He wants to lean across the bar and kiss it off her face.

“What kind of liquor do you like? Flavor profiles?”

“Bourbon. But really any dark liquor. I don’t want anything too sweet,” she pauses for a torturous sip of water. “Something that packs a punch.”

Gendry nods. As he moves around getting ice and liquor, he senses Arya’s eyes tracking him. _Two can play at that game._ He puts a little extra into every one of his actions. He rolls his sleeves up to bare his forearms and shakes the cocktail shaker _just_ a little too long. Arya doesn’t say anything, just unabashedly watches his muscles flex. She seems to love his hands in particular, their deftness as they measure, stir, and carefully swipe an orange peel around the rim of a glass.

The drink is delicious, strong and smooth.

* * *

Arya stays until the end of his shift. She switches to a beer after that first drink. _His kind of girl._ He tells her stories about his favorite regulars and how he found his way into bartending after many drunken nights with the Brotherhood Without Banners. She tells him how ballet started as a way to appease her mom who wanted her to outgrow her tomboyish ways, only for her to grow into a tomboyish ballerina.

As they get ready to leave, he helps her into her leather jacket, running his hand down her back and delighting in her slight shiver. _What other reactions could he elicit from her?_

Arya pulls him across the street back to the studio, fumbling with her keys.

“Is your boss going to be mad?” he whispers.

“I _am_ the boss,” she answers, and her words do something to him. “I own the place.”

Arya takes his hand in hers and leads him into the studio. The blinds are down but she doesn’t turn on the light. Doesn’t want anyone outside to see what they do next.

She cradles his face in her hands and pulls him down into a hungry kiss. Her movements are surprisingly clumsy, but sure. Gendry has to help extricate her from her sports bra and she nearly rips his shirt trying to tug it off him. She bites at his lips, then soothes the sting with her tongue. _Feral. Not so delicate after all._

He is used to seeing her silhouette, watching her from a distance as she spins and leaps, contorting her body into wonderful shapes. Now, up close and pressed against her, skin to skin, he feels the strength in her body firsthand. Her toned arms pushing him to the floor, her strong legs as she peels off her tights and flips him over so that she can sink down on him.

Gendry’s eyes, adjusting to the dimness with help from the street lights, drink in the sight of Arya’s lithe form writhing on top of him. Her soft little cries are strange juxtapositions to the obscene sound of her hips snapping against his over and over.

After falling apart around him the first time, she lets him roll her over so he’s on top. She is all smooth lines and well-honed muscle. At the same time, she’s soft. _Soft, and pliable._

Arya’s soft cries grow to startled yelps as Gendry throws her legs over his shoulders and practically folds her in half. He can take what she gives him, and she can take what he gives her.

At Arya’s urging, he finishes inside of her. His hands run up and down her legs, soothing her as she also comes down. Her dark hair is splayed against the floor and she looks up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. 

“You’re strong,” she muses, tracing his bicep.

“So are you,” Gendry says. He kisses her calf. “Can I see you again?”

“Don’t you watch me almost every night?” Arya giggles.

“What can I say? You put on a hell of a show.”

“Well, how about next time, I give you a private performance?”

Even though it’s only been a few minutes, Gendry swears he stiffens inside Arya again. She looks at him with raised eyebrows. He gives her a sinful grin. Neither are quite ready to leave.

They make creative use of the ballet barre.


	9. lingerie, no talking/have to be quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combining two prompts from days 16 and 17: lingerie, no talking/have to be quiet
> 
> Modern AU (with a smaller age difference between Arya and Gendry)
> 
> Inspiration for [Arya's outfit](https://www.agentprovocateur.com/us_en/palma-plunge-underwired-bra-2868)

Gendry’s Friday nights were always spent in the university library. He didn’t attend house parties, go to bars, or even go out to dinner downtown with friends. Thanks to his work-study job, he found himself spending his Fridays working the evening shift at the circulation desk, watching the dejected faces of those students who also found themselves holed up in the library while everyone else was out enjoying themselves.

Gendry didn’t typically mind the work. It paid well and aside from some occasional shelving and helping the odd student fix a printer jam, he typically spent the time getting a head start on his engineering homework and texting Arya about where they should meet up after his shift. They usually ended up back at his place, tangled up in his sheets or making out on his couch until Hot Pie walked in drunk and annoyed.

But during midterms and finals, the library was open 24/7, which meant arriving just after dinner and staying until 4am. That was when he missed Arya the most, their schedules making them miss each other like ships in the night.

Halfway through the week of fall midterms, Gendry was bored out of his mind. It was midnight on a Friday and all he wanted was to be home with Arya. _Arya falling asleep and drooling a little bit on his chest. Arya sitting in his lap, $3 wine-stained lips moving against his. Arya laid out on his unmade bed, trying to muffle her moans with a pillow._

Someone dropped a heavy stack of books on his desk, startling him out of his thoughts.

“Returning or checking out?” he asked wearily, moving the pile out of the way.

There was his girlfriend, a sly smile on her lips. He’d recognize that pink hair anywhere. She was wearing mascara and dark red lipstick. No doubt dressed up for the night.

“Returning,” she said, her eyes sweeping over him hungrily. “But also checking out.”

Gendry laughed, “Anything I can help you with in particular?”

“There’s actually a book I need your help finding. Up on the fourth floor.”

He had no idea what Arya had in store, but he would take any excuse to be with her. Even under the false pretenses of work. Gendry scrambled out of his seat, trying not to be too obvious when he walked past his coworker at the opposite end of the desk.

“Be right back,” he said. “Need to help this person here.”

Arya was wearing a red plaid button-down and an uncharacteristic black skirt with tights. Definitely dressed up to go out.

Once they were in the elevator, he tugged her close to him for a kiss.

“Thanks for surprising me at work,” he whispered.

“I haven’t even gotten to the surprise part,” Arya purred.

On the fourth floor, she led him to a secluded part of the North Tower which housed Ancient Westerosi Scripture and Theology. They didn’t pass many people, just the occasional study room occupied by loners.

“Are you really looking for a book?” Gendry was confused now.

Arya shook her head. She pulled him in between two bookshelves and then began to slowly unbutton her shirt. His eyes watched as she revealed more and more creamy skin, drinking in the flesh he loved to mark with his teeth and stubble. Finally, she exposed the black criss-cross straps and delicate lace of her bra. A bra he’d never seen before. A bra which was so low-cut that her tits were practically spilling out of the sheer cups.

Gendry almost swallowed his tongue.

While he was trying to summon the energy for an appropriate response, Arya gently shoved him up against one bookshelf and then dropped to her knees before him. Her little hands palmed his erection, running over his belt and working at the buckle as quietly as possible. When she fished him out of his pants, he was already hard.

She ran her tongue up the thick length of him in one torturous lick, swirling around the head. The sight of her long lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she took him into her mouth until she gagged slightly made his hips stutter. Gendry couldn’t help but let out a grunt, a sound that seemed to hang in the air for an eternity. The possibility of being caught made his heart race. 

“Arya…”

“You have to be quiet. Library rules.”

Arya hollowed her cheeks, using her soft little hand to stroke him in time with her movements. She picked up the pace, taking him deeper in her throat and glancing up at him with wide, grey eyes. Sometimes, she paused in order to hold his gaze as she gave him a fat lick from base to tip. From this angle, Gendry could see her pert little tits in that wicked excuse of a bra, how she rubbed her legs together slightly, already so worked up just from sucking his cock.

He gritted his teeth, tangling his fingers in her hair so tightly his knuckles turned white. It took every ounce of concentration to only let out small breaths and not the gruff groans he usually made.

“Shit, Arya, I’m so close,” Gendry huffed. His words sent a shiver down her spine. “Keep going. Yeah, just like that.”

Arya sucked him faster, the wet sounds now loud and unmistakable. But they were both too far gone to care. Gendry spilled in her mouth with a strangled sob, taking deep breaths as he watched her hold his come on her tongue for the briefest moment and then swallow it. He cupped her chin affectionately, drawing her up for a kiss.

“Thank you. That was incredible,” Gendry said drowsily. “Best. Girlfriend. Ever.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Arya attempted to straighten her sex-tussled hair. When she went to button her shirt back up, Gendry reached out and stilled her hand. He picked her up easily and sat her down on the rung of a nearby rolling library ladder.

Trailing his hands up her thighs and under her skirt, his hands froze at his discoveries.

What he thought were tights were actually silk stockings. He’d been hoping to see if her panties matched her bra, but she wasn’t wearing any. His knuckles brushed directly against her wetness, her thighs probably smeared with her arousal.

He wanted to _see_ it.

Arya looked up at him with mock innocence, even though that was impossible when her pouty red lips had just sucked him off in the library.

“Who said we were done?” Gendry growled.


	10. praise kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18: praise kink
> 
> A continuation of the previous chapter! (Can you tell I'm obsessed with that one scene in Atonement?)

“Who said we were done?” Gendry growled.

He gave Arya a soft kiss, lightly running his hands along the lace edges of her bra. How lovely her breasts looked in his hands. Her dusky pink nipples hardened under his touch until he could see them straining against the fabric.

There was nothing he wanted more than to take his time undressing her like she was his very own gift, to see her arch into him and to tease her until she took matters into her own hands. But that would have to wait.

Right now, he had to make her come. 

With Arya still perched on the library ladder, Gendry crouched down in front of her, spreading her thighs and slowly bunching up her skirt to reveal the tops of her sheer black stockings and her gorgeous wet cunt.

“You’re fucking perfect, surprising me dressed like _this_ ,” he whispered, stroking her thighs and dusting her hip with kisses. “My good girl.”

Arya quivered at his words. When he glanced up at her, he’d never seen her face so red. _Interesting_.

“You’re so wet for me, sweetheart. Is all this just from sucking my cock?”

She nodded, biting her lip to stifle a moan.

Gendry slid one blunt finger into her heat easily, all the way past the knuckle. Then two. He kept a leisurely pace, watching as he drew more slickness from her, seeing it coat his fingers. He used his other hand to gently circle her clit, keeping his touch light. When Arya closed her eyes in concentration, he spread her with his middle and index finger, then licked her cunt.

Gendry heard her inhale deeply. A soft thud. Her head fell back against another rung of the ladder, chest heaving. He pressed his tongue flat against her folds, paying extra attention to her swollen clit. Normally, once he’d gotten her this worked up, he’d bury his face in her and let her grind and ride his face until she came.

But that would be too noisy.

So he aimed for slower, deeper movements, quietly sucking that little bundle of nerves and moving his jaw against her until she was dripping down his chin.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” Gendry said quietly. She twitched against his mouth. “Do you like it when I call you that?”

He sat back on his haunches and took in the sight of Arya’s trembling form, how utterly debauched she looked. An almost imperceptible nod.

His knees aching a bit, Gendry stood up again so that he was looming over Arya, shielding her should anyone accidentally walk by. Only he would ever see her like this.

“You have to be quiet,” he echoed her words with a wry smile. “Library rules.”

“Yes, I know, stupid, just—" Arya’s words were cut off with a piercing cry as Gendry buried his middle and ring finger into her soaked cunt. He covered her mouth with his other palm, feeling the hot breath of her every anguished moan, no longer caring that the crude sound of his hand slapping against wet flesh might give them away.

He knew it wouldn’t take long to finish her like this. Especially not after his earlier discovery.

“You’re doing such a good job, Arya,” Gendry groaned against her ear. “My good girl takes me so well, anyway I give it to her. Gods, you’re going to come, aren’t you? I can _fucking feel it_.”

Arya clutched his shoulders as he crooked his fingers ever so slightly to hit that one place that he knew would push her over the edge.

“Be a good girl and come for me. Come for me, and I swear when I get off work, I’ll come home to you and make you come for me again and again.”

She shuddered as she climaxed, her scream muffled. But Gendry catalogued every sensation. Loved that he could make her forget herself like that.

He sucked the taste of her off his fingers as Arya collected herself and attempted to smooth her skirt. He helped her button her shirt since her motor skills hadn’t quite returned, kissing her neck as he did so.

Gendry knew it was easier for Arya if he said these next words without looking her in the eye.

“Good girl. I love that it’s all for me.”

He delighted in the shiver than ran down her spine.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll keep it between us.”


	11. formalwear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 19: formalwear
> 
> Spy AU, inspired by a sadly now-deleted Gendrya fic

“From the gentleman over there,” the waiter cleared his throat, setting a drink down on her table.

Arya’s gaze fell to the martini, filled to the brim and garnished with speared olives and a twist of lemon peel. Who else would send her a martini first thing in the morning except _him_?

When she looked up, there he was, toasting her with his coffee cup a few tables away. He was wearing black sunglasses and a white linen shirt that was distractingly unbuttoned, fitting for the hot weather of Lys. When she didn’t return his greeting, he sauntered over and took a seat in the empty chair next to her.

“I’ve never known you to turn down a drink,” Gendry smirked.

His hair was longer now, his skin tanner, the beard that used to leave delicious marks on the insides of her thighs now shaven.

“I’m not in the habit of accepting drinks from strange men,” Arya replied curtly.

After all that had happened between them, it sometimes felt easier to think of him as a stranger. Easier to forget the many nights they’d laid in bed together, sheets tangled between them while they pressed feverish kisses to each other’s skin, exchanging secrets they’d never spoken aloud and promises they never thought to make. But now they were on opposite sides — she worked for the House of Black and White while he’d stayed in Westeros.

Gendry didn’t take the bait. Instead, he let his eyes rake over her, “You’ve gotten better.”

_So have you._

“Do you remember the last time we were here?”

When they were _together_ , they’d come to Lys on vacation. Technically they’d gone off the radar, knowing that their boss would have their asses when they surfaced again. But it had been worth it, just to have uninterrupted time, to enjoy wandering the city and to take in the sunsets.

Lys was famous for its pleasure houses and Arya, ever the curious one, had suggested they go to one where couples could “perform” in front of an audience anonymously, either by donning masks or by moving behind a sheet illuminated by candles so that only the outlines of bodies could be seen. Gendry typically avoided pleasure houses, but took to the idea quickly, relishing in the audience’s reactions each time he made Arya come.

“I’m here for work,” she interjected, trying to push away the memories of Gendry tugging on her hair as he took her from behind, how incredible it had felt to have so many eyes on them.

“Not pleasure?”

“Not with you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Gendry said, amused. “I assume you’ll be at the embassy ball tonight?”

Arya didn’t let her face betray any acknowledgment. Gendry still noticed the slight clench of her hands.

“Stay out of my way, Waters.”

“I’m not going to make promises I can’t keep, Stark.”

Gendry’s words were tinged with hurt. His blue eyes were hidden behind those sunglasses, but the smile on his face had slid right off.

He got up and left without another word. The martini glass was sweating in the heat. Arya downed the drink in a few gulps to still her nerves.

* * *

Gendry initially kept his distance from Arya at the ball. He watched her enter, and of course, her appearance had drawn eyes. She wore an emerald green gown with understated diamond earrings, her hair swept into a low messy bun. Her delicate beauty and dark hair stood out among the fair-haired Lysenes. 

Tracking her as she circled the room, his mouth went dry when he saw her dress had no back. He tossed back another drink just to keep himself busy.

Once the party was in full swing, Gendry saw Arya slip out of the ballroom. He followed her with swift, silent steps, feeling his heart hammer against his chest. His light-hearted approach today hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped, but then again, he should’ve known that Arya wasn’t some simpering fool who could be plied with a drink and a few salacious words.

Arya was in some dignitary’s office, rummaging through drawers and rifling through papers. Her bent over a desk was always a lovely sight. She shot up and whirled around when she sensed his presence.

Gendry shut the door behind him. It was just the two of them. Alone again.

“Get out before someone sees you,” she hissed. She barely cast him another look before turning back to her snooping.

“I’m sorry, Arya,” he blurted out. “For everything. For not listening to you and believing you. For… _leaving_ you like that, after everything with The Brotherhood. I know there’s nothing I can say or do to make things right, but I just wanted you to know.”

Arya paused, her back tense. Gendry took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them.

“I miss you,” he admitted.

She turned around slowly, those wide eyes surveying him to see if there was honesty behind his words. Her hard veneer was an asset in their line of work, but Gendry prided himself on being able to get under her skin, to be someone she could be vulnerable around.

“I miss you too,” she echoed softly. It sounded like it was an admission of an uncomfortable fact, something she wish wasn’t true.

One more step and he was right in front of her. Up close, she was even more breathtaking. Long dark lashes against her pale skin, ruby red lips asking to be kissed.

Before he was able to say anything, Gendry heard footsteps approaching. Too quickly for them to hide or try to escape out the window. Neither had been paying attention as they’d exchanged confessions in the dark.

“Just go along with it,” Gendry whispered to her as the door swung open. He hoped Arya wouldn’t hold what he did next against him.

She didn’t get a chance to respond before Gendry was pulling her against him, his warm lips were sliding over hers. Her eyes widened, then fluttered shut. His hands on her exposed back sparked a warmth she’d forgotten.

She tensed at the kiss, though more out of surprise than anything. But it was easy to relax into Gendry’s arms and soon she was returning his kiss with just as much fervor, her arms sliding up the smooth planes of his chest and gripping the lapels of his tuxedo. She’d been fantasizing about this since she saw him circling like a hawk upstairs, no doubt watching her.

“Excuse me!” a deep voice shook them out of the moment. “This office is off-limits. What do you think you’re doing in here?”

Gendry looked at the flustered man in the doorway, “I’m about to ravish my wife. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Y-you can’t do that in here, sir!” the man squeaked. “You must leave before I call security.”

Arya leapt into the lie, kissing Gendry’s neck while keeping eye contact with the man. Just to make him more uncomfortable.

“Darling,” she drew Gendry’s face back to hers, her voice sultry. “Listen to the nice man. Take me back to the hotel? That way we won’t be…interrupted.”

Gendry stole another kiss from her and led her out with his hand on her lower back. The now red-faced man escorted them to the exit before going back to the ballroom, ensuring that a car was called for them.

Once in the backseat, they untangled themselves from each other. Arya’s lipstick was kissed off and Gendry’s hair was mussed from her hands running through it. She’d always preferred his hair like that.

“Sorry about that. For ruining your mission,” he sighed, running his hand over his face.

“I didn’t find anything anyway,” Arya shrugged. “But I snagged a few flash drives just in case.”

“Where to?” the driver asked.

Gendry looked over at Arya. She shifted slightly, the high slit of her silk dress falling away to reveal too much skin, her creamy thigh begging for his touch.

“I thought I asked you to take me back to the hotel,” she said in a hushed voice, curling into his chest.

* * *

Gendry didn’t touch her at all in the elevator. There had been nights he was so eager he’d taken it upon himself to make her come by the time they reached their floor. Now, he simply held her small hand in his and led her down the darkened hallway to his room.

The second they were inside, Arya slid the straps of her dress down so the material pooled on the floor with a whoosh. She tugged on his dress shirt while he fumbled with his bowtie and belt. She ran her hands over his chest, tracing the healed bullet wounds and tattoos she knew so well.

Despite her urgency, Gendry didn’t let her rush. He held her hands in his, pulled her onto his lap on the bed, and laid tender kisses on her eyelids and cheeks. She blinked away some of the moisture gathered on her lashes, though he didn’t comment on it. There were always things left unspoken but mutually understood between them.

Gendry didn’t exert his superior strength often with her, but it helped him hold her still as he traced the shell of her ear and palmed her breasts. He’d missed the way she arched into his touch and trembled with anticipation, how he could be in control of her pleasure.

Arya sank down on him with a moan, setting a demanding rhythm with her hips. They moved together easily, relearning the muscle memory they’d developed over the years. He’d been her first, had taught her which positions felt good, how to draw things out to make the release that much sweeter. They could take what the other doled out, knew when to take control or relinquish it and could find the thrill in either. Much had changed between them, but _this_ hadn’t. The trust was still there.

Gendry let Arya ride him to her first climax, then rolled them over so that he was on top. He pinned her knees to the mattress, making sure the angle allowed him to sink deep in her each time. This way, she could only accept his toe-curling thrusts and watch the torturous grind of his hips against hers. Oh, she’d forgotten how good it felt to surrender like this.

Arya pulled him down by the back of his neck to kiss him, gasping into his mouth as he wrapped her legs around his waist. He wedged his arms between her back and the mattress to press her as close to him as possible. They were skin to skin, her breasts pressed against his chest, his hot breath expelling against her face as he slowly worked them up to that peak. All she could feel around her, inside her, was Gendry. His eyes — blue and piercing and ones she couldn’t ever hide from, not even halfway around the world — looked at her with such naked adoration it made her shiver.

“Darling,” he said softly. It is _sorry_ and _I love you_ and _come for me_.

She let out a cry as she climaxed with Gendry following her shortly after. He laid his head on her chest, gathering his breaths. As she always did to calm him down, she gently stroked his hair, basking in the warmth of his body while his strong arms held her.

She had never been that good with words when it came to Gendry. Searching the ceiling for what felt like an eternity, she couldn’t find the right words to express the hurt and anger and love she felt for him. But Arya was sure he could hear the thundering of her heart. For now, that was enough.

Their paths would cross again. Of that, she was sure.


	12. masturbation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21: masturbation (solo/mutual/caught)
> 
> Inspired by all the Brotherhood Without Banners AU fics with ~*bed sharing*~

Gendry cries out and Arya’s hand immediately goes to the dagger she keeps underneath her pillow. She stays still, waiting for any signs of movement. The creak of the old door, footfalls on the stone floor. But all she hears is Gendry, panting as if he’s hurt.

“Seven Hells, _Arya_.”

His voice is gravelly and low, which she most often associates with his surlier moods. But the way his breath hitches on her name is something different. Something _new_.

Arya peers over her shoulder slowly and immediately snaps her head back, burying her face into the rough burlap. She’d only caught a few peeks, but the images are seared into her memory. Gendry’s pants undone and shoved down his hips. Gendry’s hips bucking up fiercely into his hand. His hand fisting his cock. His cock — oh, she’d just gotten a glimpse of it in the dark but she knew it was large — jutting out from a dark nest of hair.

She’s been with the Brotherhood long enough that the crude jokes about longswords and delicate sheaths are commonplace. But it’s only now that she wonders about Gendry. If he’s lain with anyone, if he’s rung any girls’ bells.

She doesn’t risk another look, but she listens to Gendry’s every harsh puff, the slightly slick sound of his hand working up and down his shaft. Her mother and Sansa would probably be shocked and horrified at his behavior. Or that they were sharing a bed at all. But this is _Gendry_ , the boy — nay, he’s a man grown now — who has helped keep her nightmares at bay all these years on the road.

If anything, Arya is deliriously curious.

* * *

Gendry finishes all over his chest, red-faced and ashamed. He peers over at Arya’s sleeping form, the gentle rise and fall of her body. This is the third time he’s now done this.

The first time, he promised himself it was just to release the tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding all these years. Arya could no longer pass for Arry, the flare of her hips more obvious, the soft swell of her breasts obvious despite her bindings, her hair now longer and tied back in a braid. When men started japing about wanting a go at taming the she-wolf, his hands curled into fists.

The second time, it’s because they had just spent an afternoon lazing around a lake in the Riverlands. She’d emerged from the water like a goddess, her shift translucent and contouring her form perfectly. She was oblivious to the gulp in his throat or how quiet he was on their walk back. His eyes had gone straight to the hardened tips of her breasts.

Harwin suggested that the two of them sleep separately once Arya flowered because it wouldn’t be proper. In a split second, she plunged her dagger into the wooden table, just missing his middle finger. After that, the subject was dropped.

At least in her presence.

Gendry still got a stern talking to from Harwin every now and then, and lately he had started to believe he deserved it.

He was just a lowborn bastard giving into his basest instincts — touching himself to the thought of the highborn girl who warmed his bed every night who he’d never be able to touch.

* * *

One night, Gendry retires from dinner early. Arya hadn’t been at dinner and he didn’t see much point in sticking around if she wasn’t there to make jokes with him or fling a spoonful of mash at Anguy’s face. Trudging up the stairs to the room he and Arya share, he hears a little yelp.

He rushes to the door, pushing it open slightly. If Arya is hurt, he won’t ever forgive himself.

But the sight that greets him isn’t one of pain. Arya’s head is thrown back against the bed, her legs spread so that he can see the heart of her. Her soft little fingers slide in and out of her folds, the glimmer of wetness on her skin. So much wetness that he wants to sink to his knees and lap it all up with his tongue. Wet and juicy as a ripe peach.

Lem had mentioned that women pleasured themselves just as men did, but Gendry has never imagined that Arya could be one of them. Not that Arya doesn’t deserve pleasure, but he just can’t let himself think of Arya like this, how she is _now_ — splayed on the bed they share, her chest flushed, and her cheeks tinted with a blush that he’s never seen. The territory is too dangerous.

_I should go. I should go. I should go._

But he remains rooted to the spot for far longer than is decent. Gendry notes how Arya plays with herself, which strokes elicit certain reactions. He catalogues it all, as if it's knowledge he could use one day.

He bites his fist as she circles her nub repeatedly, working herself to her release.

When she reaches that precipice, he hears her utter _Gendry_. It sounds so good coming out of her mouth. Content. Wistful.

At that, he stumbles back a step. Onto that bloody step that creaks so loudly it can wake up the whole floor.

“Gendry?” Arya is at the door in a flash wearing one of _his_ tunics. He forgets how quick she is.

“My apologies, m’lady. I-I didn’t realize you’d be —"

“Did you see?” she asks quietly.

Gendry swallows, nods.

“Did you like what you saw?”

His resolve crumbles as he takes her in: his tunic hangs off her shoulder slightly and her lips are swollen from where her teeth dug into the flesh to keep from crying out. Her look is an invitation. Who is Gendry to refuse?


	13. exhibitionism, in public

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Days 22 and 30: exhibitionism, in public
> 
> Spy AU by popular demand! Arya and Gendry experience the pleasure tents in Lys. Dom!Gendry makes an appearance.

Gendry’s hand cracked down on her ass and the sound was deafening in the pleasure tent. People beyond the curtain inhaled sharply as he doled out his punishment. In between each smack, her needy voice managed a number. 

When they’d started this, he’d cupped her jaw with one large hand and growled, “I want you to count them.”

They were putting on a show, after all.

Two had been a gasp. Four was a shout. Five had been a whine. Six was a whimper. By eight, she was squirming on tiptoes, her thighs covered in slick.

“If you’re uncomfortable, all you have to do is say your safe word,” he’d whispered as they undressed.

It had been Arya’s idea to go to one of Lys’s pleasure houses where couples “performed” anonymously in front of audiences. Gendry hadn’t been comfortable with simply wearing masks (Arya’s body was only _his_ to appreciate), but was intrigued by the idea of performing in one of the pleasure tents behind a sheet illuminated by torches. That way, the audience would only be able to see their silhouettes and hear their voices.

Gendry agreed on one condition: he would get to be in charge.

“Ten!” Arya shrieked, glad that the torture was over.

She was only dimly aware of the applause on the other side of the sheet. The Lysene weather was balmy year-round and a warm breeze caressed her skin, cooling the sweat on her skin and making her shiver.

Gendry waited for her ragged breathing to subside before he continued, running his hand over the red marks he’d left on her beautiful pale skin, soothing the sting.

“You’ve done well. Now, let’s see how wet I’ve made you.”

He turned her over on the cot and sank to his knees, feeling the sturdiness of the soft earth beneath him. He had to admit he was startled at the sheer amount of wetness he found. How it indicated just how much she was enjoying being watched. She was practically _dripping_ and he hadn't even touched her there.

Arya shot him a small grin that was just for him, reassuring him that everything he’d done so far had only made her more aroused. He gave her a lopsided smirk, a flash of affection, before he brought his hand down on her wet cunt. He let the lewd sound it made hang in the air for all to hear.

He put his mouth on her, gathering up the wetness while working his thumb against her clit until it was swollen. Gendry could only imagine the image they made: the beautiful arch of her back as his head was buried between her thighs.

Arya turned her head to see the shadowy shapes of the figures watching them. Some were intertwined, others were touching themselves, the movements of their arms undeniable. It was intoxicating to do something so private so publicly.

The sluicing sound of Gendry’s fingers sliding in and out of her folds grew louder and louder until her legs shook.

“Please, sir!” she moaned desperately. If they were alone, she would’ve been moaning his name instead. Here, he was just a stranger using her body.

“You have to _ask_.”

“Can I—ah, can I come?” Arya’s voice sounded so deliciously broken. “Please.”

Gendry stood up abruptly and she cried at the loss. But then he arranged her on the mattress so that her splayed legs and dripping cunt faced the veil. Kneeling behind her on the bed, he brought his hand back to her, plunging inside at a blistering, noisy pace.

“Make my hand wet,” he commanded.

She shook as she followed his orders, convulsing around his fingers. Even though Arya knew the onlookers couldn’t see them clearly, mortification flooded her body. Gendry held up his hand to the audience for a beat, now soaked with her arousal, then triumphantly sucked the taste of her off his fingers.

His lips captured hers in a filthy kiss.

“Doing ok?” Gendry whispered.

Arya gave him a small nod. He gave her a quick peck on her sternum before he shifted back into his role.

“Turn around. Back on your knees.”

His blunt statements sent a shiver through her, reminding her of the drills he issued during her training days at the academy. Gendry had been off-limits then but they’d still managed to forge a precarious friendship. It was more out of Arya’s persistence than anything else. She preferred taking her meals with Gendry over her haughty classmates and Gendry quickly realized there was no telling Arya Stark what to do.

Except now.

And it was only because she wanted him to.

Arya complied, holding her breath while Gendry fisted his cock and teased her entrance with it. His iron hold on her waist prevented her from moving.

“Eyes forward,” he snapped when he caught her looking.

She would earn her pleasure on his terms. He would not be rushed.

When he finally sank deep inside her, Arya let out an anguished cry, limbs trembling as he immediately started driving his hips against her in powerful thrusts. Usually, Gendry liked to take things slowly since their early days of sneaking around the academy meant quick, hard fucks after hours in storage closets and training rooms. She’d forgotten what it was like when he didn’t hold back.

Gendry gathered a fistful of her hair and pulled, prompting her to rear up on her knees and twist her face towards him so that he could kiss her and swallow her moans. Arya had always been told that being taken from behind was impersonal. But with Gendry, it was when she felt his desperation and yearning the most.

He paused long enough for him to fold her arms behind her back, gripping them like reins as he resumed his harsh pace. Arya’s head fell back against his shoulder as he fucked her, imagining the sensual shapes their bodies were currently creating against the illuminated fabric. The contrast of her small lithe form against his strong, broad frame.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Gendry sneered, narrating for those watching. “I can _feel_ it in your tight little pussy.”

“Yes! _Gods_ , please let me come sir,” she hiccuped. Her pleas were barely audible over the slick sounds their bodies made each time he slammed into her.

“My good girl, asking for permission. You can come, darling. Come all over my cock.”

Gendry didn’t let up, forcing the pitch of Arya’s wails higher and higher until the scream caught in her throat. Holding both her wrists with one of his hands, he trailed his other hand down to the juncture of her thighs, strumming her clit. Her hips tilted away from the overstimulation, but she had nowhere to go. She shook in his arms again, prompting delighted gasps from the spectators.

“Greedy girl, coming again?” Gendry chuckled. “I think it’s my turn now. Where should I come? Where do you _want_ it?”

Arya’s eyes fluttered with the possibilities: Gendry coming all over her tits, tasting his release in her mouth, or feeling his warmth inside her.

“My ass,” she whimpered, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

She felt Gendry’s grin against her skin, “I knew you enjoyed that spanking. You want me to paint your ass with my come?”

“Yes!”

He pulled out of her abruptly. Then she heard him groan as he jerked his cock all over her flushed skin, feeling the little rivulets of come trailing down towards her cunt.

She collapsed against the mattress and closed her eyes, exhausted and only barely registering the final applause. Gendry blew out the candles, signaling the end of their time. He came to sit next to her on the cot, coaxing her to sit up. He smoothed her hair back gently.

“Was that what you wanted?” he asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice. He hoped he hadn’t pushed her too far.

Arya turned her face towards his and smiled like a cat that got the cream.

“It was perfect. Thank you. Did you like it?”

Gendry nodded, “But I think I much prefer having you scream my name.”


	14. first time, oral sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Days 24 and 25: first time, oral sex
> 
> A continuation of Chapter 12's BWB AU, because I can't resist writing tender, slightly awkward first times with these two.

Arya is tugging him into their room and closing the door before he can fumble out an answer. She slides his right hand up between her thighs. She’s not wearing smallclothes. Given that he’d just seen her touching herself, he shouldn’t be surprised at the wetness he finds there. But the contact burns Gendry nonetheless, because he’s really touching Arya and it’s not a dream.

He’s cupping her cunt in his palm and he hasn’t even kissed her yet. Leave it to Arya to do things all out of order.

Gendry cups Arya’s cheek and their lips meet slowly, deeply. He draws back slightly and she chases his mouth. His heart twists at her eagerness.

“I-I’ve never done this before,” Arya admits. "Obviously."

“I’ve only done it once so I’m no expert,” Gendry says, referring to the one night he’d gotten a little too drunk and angry at Ned Dayne for sitting closely to Arya at dinner and had taken his frustration out in a misguided tryst with Jeyne. The experience had done the opposite — he only thought about Arya more after that, and in increasingly compromising positions.

Arya gives him a shove and he falls back onto the bed. She whips off her (technically his) tunic and practically leaps onto his lap, rubbing against him purposefully. She nips at his jaw. Despite her boldness, there are things that don’t escape Gendry’s notice: her uneven breaths, the trembling of her hands as she yanks his shirt off and discards it behind her.

She’s _nervous_.

Arya is fierce, skilled, and can wield a sword better than most men. She can hold her own on the battlefield and has made clean kills so quickly and quietly it terrifies most of the Brotherhood. Gendry is often so in awe of her that he forgets that she is still a maiden. Although she’s an expert in some things, she is still unskilled in others.

“It’s not a race, Arry,” he says, sitting up and stilling her greedy hands. “Just talk to me. Tell me what you like, what you don’t like. And I’ll do the same.”

* * *

Arya relaxes a bit at Gendry’s nickname for her.

She doesn’t know why she’s rushing. Part of her worries that Gendry will come to his senses and refuse her. Another part of her wants to act the part of a temptress, because isn't that what all men wanted? All she has to draw from are hurried encounters she caught or overheard at The Peach.

Gendry’s words put her at ease. He just wants her as she is, for her to feel safe with him.

“Kiss me,” she says.

He kisses her slowly, coaxing her mouth open and letting her get used to the feeling of his tongue against hers. Arya is a quick study and follows his movements easily, gasping as he reaches up to touch her breast.

“That feels so much better than when I do it,” she whimpers.

Gendry lets out a groan at her words, the image she paints. He palms her breasts, tweaking her nipples until they’re hard buds.

“Touch yourself,” he suggests. “Like you were earlier.”

Arya blushes but sits back on his thighs, opening herself to him with her fingers. Gendry’s forehead is pinched in concentration as she dips one, then two fingers into her core.

“I’ve watched you too,” she confesses. “When you thought I was asleep. What do you think about when you touch yourself? Do you think about me?”

There’s a flash of arousal in Gendry’s eyes and he instantly replaces her fingers with his, smoothly sinking one finger inside her. 

“Of course I think about you,” he presses his forehead against hers as he works that one thick finger into her tight channel. He likes being able to see each of her reactions up close. “I think of taking you bent over my anvil, of you riding me so loudly the whole village hears. I think about having you just like this, teasing you with one finger until you can’t stand it anymore.”

“Can you put another finger in?” she asks.

The stretch makes her yelp. He’s able to reach parts of her she never knew existed, stoking the fire in her until she’s consumed with his ardor and is grinding down against his hand.

When Arya peaks, it’s different than when she touches herself. There are so many more dimensions to it. Looking down, she can see the flex of Gendry’s forearm. There's his voice in her ear, showering praises and words of encouragement.

She vaguely registers him sucking the taste of her off his fingers. The thought comes unbidden to her — Gendry on his knees, holding her open and licking into her with abandon.

Once she’s caught her breath, she slides off his lap until she’s kneeling between his legs. Tugging his breeches down, Arya is finally able to see what he looks like up close, not just stolen glances in the dark. He is long and thick, as she’d suspected, but the warmth and firmness is dizzying.

“Tell me what _you_ like.”

* * *

Gendry hisses when Arya takes him in her mouth. He’s too large for her to take in all the way, so she uses her hand to stroke the rest of him.

“Not so hard at first,” he coughs. “Y’know how I started off slow with you? It’s the same idea.”

Arya nods and relaxes her grip this time. The effect is instantaneous. He swears, involuntarily bucking his hips and making her sputter.

“Sorry,” he brushes her hair back as she clears her throat. “Your soft little hands are going to be the death of me.”

That makes Arya smile and she draws a long, fat lick from root to tip. Gendry huffs as her tongue continues its torture, her head bobbing up and down in his lap like he’s only seen in his imagination.

She glances up at him every now and then, holding his gaze while she envelops his shaft. When she does this, she can feel him twitch ever so slightly. Sucking him with more vigor, her cheeks hollow and Gendry’s grip in her hair tightens.

Arya pulls back and he practically whines. She wants him to come inside her and he won’t be able to do that if she finishes him off now. Even _she_ knows that.

She lies back on the bed and beckons at him. Her knees fall open in an explicit invitation.

At first, Gendry doesn’t move to follow her. It’s been so many years since they first met that she’s fully rejected the label of a “proper lady.” The Brotherhood no longer cares that they share a bed. The war has taken its toll, leaving them as each other’s remaining family. He knows this, and yet for a second, he can’t help but worry about propriety. He cannot _ruin_ her.

Sensing his hesitation, Arya pulls him over her and holds his face in her hands. She catches his lips in a kiss with so much emotion that it makes him shudder. Her eyes slowly flutter open and in them, he sees that whatever they do tonight will not ruin them, but make them whole.

Gendry slides his mouth carefully over hers again as he places himself at her entrance and pauses. She nods and he pushes into her slowly, relishing in her warmth, watching each sensation flicker across Arya’s face.

* * *

A deep intake of breath rushes into her lungs. There’s a slight pinch of pain as he enters her for the first time, the sensation of muscles she’s never used adjusting to the intrusion. Gendry is so patient it takes him awhile to finally sink into her to the hilt. The stretch of his cock is unlike anything she’s felt before.

“You can move, Gendry,” she wiggles her hips beneath his. “It doesn’t hurt so bad.”

“I’ll make you feel good,” he promises, kissing her brow.

He keeps his movements slow, intentional. Deep strokes that force unladylike moans out of her.

Arya tilts her hips up, causing him to slip in even deeper. Gendry releases a guttural groan like he’s been wounded.

“Are you alright?” she touches his cheek, feeling the rough stubble there.

He exhales, gathering himself. He turns his face into her hand and kisses her palm.

“You feel so good, love.”

The line between pain and pleasure is so thin and she’s still learning the difference. They continue to experiment with different strokes, speeds, and depths. Arya observes which angles make her quiver, what kind of touches make Gendry’s throat tighten.

“Can I try something?” he asks.

Arya assents, because everything Gendry has taught her so far has felt like heaven.

He takes her right leg and places it on his left shoulder. Then, he drives into her again, and _oh Seven Hells, he’s so deep like this_. She can’t breathe.

“Fuck,” she lets out a broken cry. “That-that feels…”

“’S good?” he slurs, his rhythm becoming sloppy.

“S-so good. I think I’m close.”

Gendry snakes his hand down to her cleft and rubs her until she screams.

* * *

Arya is so beautiful when she comes. He thought she’d be quiet, the way she is with most things. But here she is, wailing, pleading to the Gods, and chanting his name. He decides he quite likes it when she's loud.

She spasms around his cock so deliciously that he finishes on the heels of her climax, gripping her hips tightly and spending himself inside her. They lie together until Gendry sees Arya shiver.

He pulls out of her and throws a blanket over her, trying not to stare at the mixture of their fluids staining the bedsheets. There’s a bucket of water in the corner and he takes a damp washcloth to clean them both. Arya lets him take care of her, a rare unabashed grin stretched across her face.

After tossing the rag to the side, Gendry can’t help but lean down and press a kiss to her cunt. Just because he can. Because he’s craved her for so long and now he doesn’t have to wonder anymore.

Arya squirms.

“Sore?” he asks.

“Sensitive,” she quips. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Gendry gives her a roguish smile, “I assure you, you will.”


	15. strip tease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 26: strip tease
> 
> Happy Halloween! I've been watching too much New Girl so here's a True American-inspired drabble.

“Drink!” Jon shouts, pointing the sword he usually keeps mounted on his wall in Gendry’s face.

Gendry takes a gulp of the acid green Halloween punch and winces. Whenever Arya is in charge of drinks, each sip ends up tasting like a shot. He’s a large man and it often takes him awhile to get drunk, but when it comes to playing War of Westeros, he’s easily tipsy by the end of the first hour.

War of Westeros is a convoluted drinking game that the Starks invented with an infinite number of variations. There’s lots of shouting, hand waving, listing of random Westerosi trivia, and copious amounts of swearing involved. Even though he’s been playing it for a few years, he still doesn’t fully understand the rules. Except that the floor is wildfire.

Arya first introduced him to the game a couple of months into their friendship. It was the first time he ever puked in front of her, which in her words, meant he was playing the game right. She’d taken him to his favorite diner the morning after, smiling at him over the rim of her coffee cup.

He wasn’t fully in love with her at that point. Not like he is now.

And for the love of the Seven, tonight’s variation of War of Westeros involves a _stripping clause_. A fact which Arya hollers at him as he feels the burn of the punch in his chest.

“Take it off!” Ygritte whoops from her perch on the kitchen counter.

Gendry seeks out Arya’s gaze but his silent plea for help is ignored.

“Strip, Waters,” she declares. He’s imagined her saying those words under much different circumstances, perhaps alone in her flat, not here in the presence of their friends and her siblings.

But rules are rules, and her words still prompt a shiver to run down his spine. He pathetically toes off his socks and everyone, including a now very rowdy Sansa, boos him.

It turns out that taking the slow route was smart because Gendry ends up having to drink (and strip) a lot. A sip of pumpkin ale and his belt. A shot of whisky and his flannel button down. When he finally has to choose between his white undershirt and his pants, he tosses off his shirt as casually as he can, which is virtually impossible because everyone hoots and whistles as he does so.

Everyone, that is, except Arya. Across the room, he sees her standing on an end table with a hungry look in her eyes, her mouth slightly parted. His stomach twists, hoping the look is for him. The alcohol is making him a little bold and as he takes a drink, he lets the beer run out of his mouth and down his naked torso. Arya tracks the droplets down his chest and she licks her lips.

Dany awards him extra points for the show.

Arya is unsurprisingly excellent at War of Westeros but is uncharacteristically quiet compared to everyone else. She plays with precision and frequently just sips her own drink even when she doesn’t have to because she otherwise wouldn’t get drunk at all. That’s why it’s all the more surprising when she makes a massive mistake — she can’t finish the quote, “Fear cuts deeper than…”

She’s squeezed onto the same section of the couch as Gendry is and the next few minutes are complete torture. Arya throws back a shot of whisky and then peels off her blouse, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time. Underneath her shirt, she’s wearing a lacy black and white bra and her breasts are…perfect. _They’d fit so perfectly in his palms._

Part of him has always suspected Arya has fantastic breasts, but he’s only seen her in a swimsuit on a handful of occasions. It’s definitely not the same as seeing her like _this._

“White Walkers approach!” Robb yells, interrupting his dirty thoughts. “1, 2, 3, 4!”

Everyone puts a number to their forehead. Gendry fumbles and puts a three. They all look around the room, though he doesn’t quite know what they’re looking for.

Sansa shrieks and points at Arya and Gendry, “You both put threes! You know what that means! It’s time to go…”

“…Beyond the Wall!” everyone finishes.

It turns out “going beyond The Wall” means getting shoved into someone’s bedroom to make out.

“What are we, in middle school?” he laughs.

“No cheating!” Dany says through the door. “We demand hickies!”

They’re alone. They’re alone and both half-naked and Gendry’s head is buzzing with the possibilities. Except they’re friends and maybe their teasing has gone too far.

“We don’t have to,” he rubs the back of his head.

Arya steps closer to him. Oh, he has a very nice view of her cleavage now.

“Rules aside,” she clears her throat. “I want to.”

Arya places his hands on her bare waist. Her own arms come up to circle his neck. They’re almost skin to skin and Arya is rising up on her tiptoes to meet his lips and _fuck,_ Gendry can’t process things fast enough until she’s kissing him. She tastes like whisky and citrus.

Finally, his brain catches up with reality and he’s hauling Arya against him, the feeling of her breasts pressed against his chest making him feral. Gendry deepens the kiss, pushing her up against the door. He slips his tongue in her mouth, making her moan loudly.

There’s a pounding on the door, “Hey! We said _make out_!”

“Well, we’re not done!” Arya yells back.

Footsteps and grumbles shuffle away. Gendry is beet red but Arya kisses the dumbstruck look off his face.

“What do you say we get out of here and you finish that little striptease at my place?” she murmurs.

Gendry nips at her ear and she giggles, “Only if you promise to do the same.”


	16. sex tape, body worship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Days 27 and 28: sex tape, body worship
> 
> SORRY TO HOT PIE

Normally, Hot Pie didn’t go into Gendry’s room. They were good flatmates, mindful of each other’s space, respectful of each other’s privacy, and they’d agreed to let the other one know if they had company over. Not that either of them had girls over often.

Except Arry, but that didn’t count.

But one morning, as Hot Pie walked from the bathroom to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks when he saw what Gendry had left open on his laptop. A video, a _porno_ , paused right as a woman arched her hips into a man’s mouth. From the angle, all that could be seen was the man’s head in between the woman’s thighs, his broad shoulders keeping her splayed open and her hands twisting in the dark tresses.

Gendry had already left for work and wouldn’t be back until evening. His curiosity getting the better of him, Hot Pie gingerly stepped into the room and hit play.

The footage wasn’t particularly high quality. It looked more like an amateur couple fooling around in their bedroom. Judging from the way the man was lavishing kisses on his partner’s skin, they were _definitely_ a couple.

It was sensual and unhurried. The man mapped the woman’s still-trembling body with his hands, laving at her cunt and reaching up to palm her breasts. He whispered words of adoration into the crease of her thigh, _fucking beautiful_ , _incredible_ , _gorgeous_.

The woman pulled the man up for a kiss, his body dwarfing hers. They switched places, her now on top and sliding down his body to kneel on the ground. Her brown hair was falling out of a messy braid. The man hissed as she kissed down his stomach and ran her hands up and down his thighs. She seemed to be more possessive in her exploration, nails raking over flesh to leave their mark. Rather than peppering compliments with each kiss, she uttered the word _mine_.

When she finally took his cock into her mouth, the man jerked and groaned. She took her time alternating between sucking him and teasing him with long, languorous licks.

“C’mere, love,” the man cupped her by the chin and tugged her back on top of him.

She sank down on him slowly, letting out a breathless whine as she did so.

“So good,” the man coaxed. His hands roamed restlessly, caressing her breasts, sliding over her ass, and gripping her hips tightly to guide their undulations.

She rode him until she shuddered and shouted, collapsing forward onto his chest. The man kissed her hair and held her against him as his hips pistoned up into her in lewd, hard smacks.

“G-Gendry!” the woman cried.

Hot Pie almost had a heart attack. Did she say _Gendry_? And why did this woman’s voice suddenly sound so familiar?

She continued to mewl Gendry’s name and soon was on the verge of another orgasm.

The gruff voice of the man who might be Gendry then gave a particular vicious thrust and growled, “Come for me, Arya.”

Hot Pie hit pause in horror. When he did so, he noticed that the video was fullscreen but not in a browser. It was a video file simply titled _our experiment_.

_Gendry and Arya. Arya and Gendry. His best mates._

Oh Seven Hells. It wasn’t a porno. It was their _sex tape_.

Hot Pie didn’t watch the rest. He wished he could purge what he’d seen from his brain. He spent the rest of the day pacing, wondering how he could possibly act normally around them.

How long had they been together? Why hadn’t they told him? _Why had Gendry left that stupid video on his laptop for anyone to see?_

He vowed to never enter Gendry’s room ever again.

* * *

When Hot Pie came back from work, Arya and Gendry were sitting on the couch. Not cuddling, but Gendry’s arm was casually thrown over the back of the couch. He gave an awkward wave.

“Hey, we’re just about to go see a movie. Want to come?” Arya asked, standing up and stretching. Her hair was in a braid.

“You and Gendry are going to make — I mean, watch — a movie?” Hot Pie stammered.

“Yeah, want to join us?” Gendry helped Arya into her leather jacket. He did this all the time, but now the casual gesture was anything but.

“No thanks! You two have fun!” he said quickly. “Not too much though!”

“What?” Gendry asked, pausing while pulling on his boot.

“Nothing, have a good night!”

Arya looked up at Gendry, “What’s his problem?”


	17. kitchen sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 29: kitchen sex
> 
> Takes place sometime after the Long Night. I've been watching too many TikToks of men in the woods sensually cooking chicken over an open fire.
> 
> Not sure if there are iceboxes in Winterfell but my Google search for "what did they use as fridges in game of thrones" didn't yield many helpful results.

Gendry hated the cold. Even bundled under layers of furs, he still shivered whenever he stepped outside the forge in Winterfell. These days, he only left to see Arya. He loved watching her practice with others in the yard, besting every man and woman who dared to go up against her with only a few deft steps. The fluidity and quickness of her movements were just enough to get his blood to run hot.

But he felt most at home around fire, whether that was in the smithy or in the kitchens of Winterfell.

It had been Arya’s idea to first meet in the kitchens. She had a tendency to skip mealtimes and wanted to sneak in for a late night snack. She still remembered all the ways around the castle, clutching a dumbstruck Gendry as she led him through darkened corridors and unused rooms.

Gendry wasn’t as comfortable with sneaking around castles, even if it was Arya leading him and they technically weren’t stealing. But his nervousness subsided once they made it to their destination, the large kitchens scrubbed clean and empty, a fire roaring in the corner. He smiled as Arya pulled items from the pantry and icebox, arranging her spoils on the large island in the center of the room.

For someone who knew their way around knives of all kinds, she didn’t know the first thing about navigating a kitchen. She usually tore off a hunk of day-old bread and paired it with whatever cured meats, cheeses, and fruits were available.

One night, Gendry finally had enough with her makeshift meals. She deserved a proper one.

“Oi, what are you doing?” she yelled indignantly when he swiped the loaf from her hands.

“You need to eat real food, Arya.”

“That _is_ real food, stupid.”

His Arya was full of contradictions. Cool and clear-headed, yet temperamental and prone to tantrums. A caregiver to everyone except herself.

“You know how to cook?” she asked, watching as Gendry pulled some chicken out of the icebox and tossed some garlic, herbs, and potatoes onto the counter.

Gendry shrugged, “Hot Pie taught me a few things.”

Arya hoisted herself up onto the counter where he was chopping the ingredients, feet dangling off the ledge. She did this often in the forge — sat on his anvil and watched him work.

He quickly minced the garlic and herbs and chopped the potatoes. As if predicting his next move, Arya handed him a cleaver to slice the chicken.

He remembered how Arya’s eyes had lit up when he demonstrated the strength of the dragonglass ax. When the ax splintered wood, she stared at him, shocked. But only for a second. Then, her gaze flicked down his body, appraising him. It was similar to how he looked at her in the training yard.

It was the precise look she now gave him as he dragged the cleaver through flesh.

“Hungry yet?” he growled.

Arya licked her lips and nodded, “Didn’t realize I was getting dinner _and_ a show.”

Gendry drizzled the chicken breast in olive oil, taking care to rub it for a few seconds too long. He moved over to the stove to stoke the flames a bit and then picked up a large cast iron skillet as if it weighed nothing.

Another small inhale from Arya.

He seared the chicken in the pan, basting it in garlic herb butter. The potatoes went in next and then the pan went into the oven to roast.

While they waited, Gendry shook off his heavy coat, the room now too warm. Arya hadn’t moved from her spot on the counter but raked an appreciative glance over his muscled forearms. He kept his distance. If they started anything now, the chicken would surely burn.

“Your dinner, m’lady,” he set the plate down next to her with a flourish.

“Impressive,” she speared a potato with her fork. “Do you want any?”

“No, I’ve already eaten.”

They dropped the game once Arya dug into the chicken. She spoke while she ate, which to any other person might’ve seemed unladylike, but Gendry loved it. No more airs, just Arya. Anytime he could amaze her even a little bit was the best feeling in the world.

She ate every last morsel. Gendry tried not to watch her the whole time. But even when his gaze wasn’t trained on her face, the little moans she let out as she savored the food were still distracting.

* * *

Gendry was right. A proper meal did wonders.

Arya thanked him for cooking with a kiss. Not a long one, but a lingering one.

She walked over to a cupboard to get a cup for water but her hands fumbled as Gendry came up behind her and pulled her hips against his. He nuzzled her neck, leaving hungry kisses at the juncture of her shoulder.

He smelled like smoke and heat.

Before she could lean back into Gendry’s embrace, he had her bent over the counter and was pulling at her breeches with a forceful tug. Oh, she’d been waiting to be manhandled like this ever since he’d thrust that ax into a barrel and reassured her, _it’s strong enough_.

“Gendry, what are you doing?” she gasped. 

He was on his knees now, warm hands parting her thighs and his tongue finding her slick and ready for him.

“I’ve already eaten,” he smirked. “But I’m still hungry.”


	18. freeform

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 31: freeform
> 
> Based on [gendrie's headcanons if Gendry was a noble and they met in King's Landing](https://gendrie.tumblr.com/post/616314980747427840/headcanon-for-gendrya-if-gendry-been-a-noble).
> 
> Arya inflicting bodily harm on Joffrey! Sparring! Tourneys! Masquerade sex!
> 
> [Art inspiration from toastyydoodles](https://toastyydoodles.tumblr.com/post/163335249738/belated-birthday-present-for-draganchitsa-happy)

When Arya walked into the Great Hall wearing a grey gown and a wolf’s mask, Gendry almost swallowed his tongue.

He’d only ever seen her in a dress on a handful of occasions, including the first day they met when she was eight and ten. Their fathers had forced them to exchange pleasantries under the suffocating expectations of both their houses. She wore a simple blue dress that brought out the fierceness in her eyes. From the way she kept tugging at the dress’s sleeves, he could tell she didn’t wear them often. Odd for a highborn lady.

He only uncrossed his arms to briefly hold Arya’s hand and play the part of a proper lordling. She’d snatched her hand back as if burned.

Now, her eyes swept the room and met his. She didn’t cast a shy downwards glance like the other ladies in court. In fact, she _smirked_.

That’s what he liked best. That she was unlike any woman he’d ever met.

It had taken them several weeks in King’s Landing to exchange more than a few words. He caught glimpses of her around the castle in a tunic and breeches, which his father explained was due to her “dancing lessons.” As he would come to learn, these were Braavosi water dancing lessons that involved quick steps and slender swords. She looked beautiful and deadly, like a wildling queen from a song.

He liked that Arya scowled almost as often as he did around the prince. But it wasn’t until she smacked Joffrey in the training yard for suggesting he use one of the stable boys as target practice that Gendry felt his first real connection with her. 

She didn’t know the stable boy at all. Most lords and ladies would hardly register anyone outside their station, let alone hit a prince with a quarterstaff in their defense. But he learned quickly. Arya wasn’t like most people.

When their fathers chastised her, Gendry found himself speaking up in support of her.

“Joffrey’s a right prick,” he blurted out, a bit more forcefully than he’d intended. “I was there. She was protecting an innocent child.”

It angered him that they took his word and not Arya’s, but as they left the room that day, she said his name for the first time.

“Thank you, Lord Gendry.”

“Just Gendry, m’lady.”

“Then you must call me Arya. And you were right. He is a right prick.”

After that, they spent more and more time together. Gendry showed her the dragon skulls in the cellar of the Red Keep and led her through the secret passageways in the castle, having spent time in King’s Landing as a child. They donned disguises and explored Flea Bottom, the Street of Steel, and Cobbler’s Square, tasting foods and exploring shops while talking about their siblings. They sat next to each other in court and whispered observations and jokes. Although his preferred weapon was a war-hammer, she taught him how to properly wield a sword. They sparred in a secluded patch of woods just beyond the castle gate. Of course, she won most matches.

Gendry first realized he was in love when Arya had her blade at his throat.

He looked at her with the same adoration now. Placing his cup on a table, he quickly concluded his conversation with one of his father’s bannermen and strode towards Arya.

“Awfully bold of you to not wear your house’s sigil,“ she quipped.

Gendry adjusted his mask, “A certain someone has called me a stubborn bull so many times, I thought it was time to embrace it.”

Aware that half the room was now watching them, he bowed and she curtsied. It was awfully formal considering he’d had her laid out on the desk in his solar just last night, his head between her thighs.

Since their formal betrothal, they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off of each other. The first time they laid together was after Gendry’s victory in a tourney. Placing a delicate wreath of winter roses on her head, he crowned Arya his queen of love and beauty. The blush that rose to her cheeks was a sight he’d cherish forever.

To others, it was an announcement of his intentions to court her. In reality, he’d been doing so for much longer than even he realized.

They found each other that night, his blood still singing from the fight. He took her to a secluded spot along Blackwater Bay and they made love with the sounds of the water lapping gently at the shore. Even in the darkness, Gendry could see Arya’s head thrown back in ecstasy, the pale column of her throat begging for his attention, the upward cant of her hips to take him in deeper, how her fingers curled into the blanket beneath them. He finished too soon, the feeling of her warm cunt too much for him. He wasn’t an expert by any means but he worked his fingers against her slowly, learning what she liked and where she guided his hand, and rubbed her to completion. Every whimper he drew from her stoked a fire in him that would never be sated.

She was his first. She would be his only.

In public, there was only the occasional brush of his lips against her hand, her arm threaded through his as they walked around the gardens. In private, they stole kisses in the library and made each other moan in musty storerooms. Gendry didn’t detest court as much when her bite marks were right under his collar and the memory of her coming apart around him was fresh in his mind.

“Would you care to dance?” Arya asked.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one asking you that question,” he chuckled.

“As if we’ve ever done anything properly.”

Arya moved with grace and ease, her water dancing giving her a natural edge. Gendry had a harder time, stumbling over his feet and concentrating too hard on the steps. When the upbeat tempo finally slowed, he drew her a little too close, his large hand spanning most of her waist.

“Now who’s the one doing improper things?” Arya breathed against his ear.

Gendry chuckled, sending a shiver down her spine, “Just wait until we are wed.”

“You can barely keep your hands to yourself _now_.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Hardly,” Arya stroked the nape of his neck affectionately, a strong contrast to the tension that simmered between them. “Simply an observation. I’m struggling to imagine what that looks like.”

“It means I won’t have to dance with you at these feasts hiding the fact that I’d rather drag you to the nearest dark hallway and fuck you. I’d just take you to our chambers and make you scream so loudly the whole castle could hear.”

As Gendry spoke, he felt her tense in his arms, her breathing growing shallow. They were to be married in a matter of weeks, and for once in her life, Arya was counting down those days.

She drew back slightly, enough for him to see her eyes through her mask, how they shined with anticipation. A raised eyebrow. The slightest angling of her head towards the kitchen doors.

“You don’t ever have to hide what you want.”

_You. Always you._

Once the final strings of the song concluded and the ale and wine started flowing in earnest, they slipped out one of the side doors, down several winding passageways, and finally came to a dark hallway lit only by one lone torch.

Gendry’s back hit the rough stone walls with a thud as Arya angled her head for a needy kiss. He cradled her head in his hands, meeting her passion with his own. He unlaced the ties of her mask and let it clatter to the floor.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, kissing her cheeks, her swollen lips, the sensitive skin behind her ear.

Impatient as always, Arya simply pushed his mask off and then went straight to work on the laces of his breeches. She sank to her knees and took his straining cock in her mouth. Gendry fisted a hand in her hair and leaned his head back against the wall with a groan.

He didn’t let her torture him for long, hauling her up and reversing their positions so that he was on his knees, trailing his hands under her dress.

“Arya, you will be the death of me,” he sighed when he discovered she wasn’t wearing smallclothes.

Gendry dipped his fingers in the wetness he found, stroking the entrance of her cunt until she bucked her hips into his palm with a needful whine. He suckled her clit right as he thrust two fingers inside her, reveling in the flutter of her tight walls around him. Sometimes, he liked to build her up slowly and leave her hanging on the precipice until she was red-faced and pleading. Tonight, he flung her off the edge with a few practiced lashes of his tongue and the vigorous back-and-forth motion of his hand that they’d discovered made her gush and writhe.

She muffled a scream into her hand, shuddering and pliant as Gendry rose to his feet and kissed her, the taste of her still on his tongue.

“I love to watch you come,” he growled.

Arya’s gown was harder to maneuver and he quickly decided it was better to simply bunch the skirts up as he bent her at the waist. He gave a playful slap to her perfect exposed backside, the sound of it ringing out in the deserted hallway.

“Stop teasing,” she moaned, both hands braced on the wall in front of her and squirming on her tiptoes to better align herself with his cock. “Please, Gendry.”

He sank into her in one smooth thrust and they both gasped at the depth, the angle. The grip on her hips would surely leave bruises tomorrow but Arya only urged him on, pushing herself back onto him in lewd, wet smacks. Glancing down, he watched in awe as his cock disappeared into her over and over.

“Faster,” she panted, an edge detectable in her voice.

Gendry leant forward so that he could hold both her hands against the wall with one of his, their fingers interlaced and knuckles turning white as they chased their completion together. With every thrust, Arya chanted his name like a prayer. Her hair spilled down her back in long waves. Gendry loved her best like this, unrestrained and free.

“Sometimes I can hardly believe you agreed to be mine,” he admitted. “And that I am yours.”

Arya peered over her shoulder with the most blissed out look on her face and Gendry knew she felt the same. She was direct in most things, but he knew that when it came to this, to _them_ , it sometimes took a bit of time for her words to catch up to her actions.

“P-please, I’m so close,” she whispered.

Gendry guided one of her hands down to her core, both of them feeling how he stretched her, how he plunged deep and withdrew with every stroke. The pitch of her wails grew higher and higher as she circled her clit and then she was flying apart in his arms. He spilled inside of her on the heels of her release, too overcome by the sensations to pull out as he normally did.

“We will be married soon,” Arya sighed contently, as if reading his mind.

“Aye, there’ll be no need for us to meet for secret trysts like this.”

Arya threw him a glance, “What if I want to meet for secret trysts?”

Gendry grinned, spanking her backside again.

“Then that can be arranged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, last entry in Kinktober! Thank you all so much for reading along!


End file.
